


Adult Education (Prof. Charlie Barber x Reader)

by gracieyfaciey



Category: Marriage Story (2019)
Genre: Adam Driver - Freeform, Charlie Barber - Freeform, College, F/M, Professors, Teacher-Student Relationship, agedifference, marriage story, sexwork
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:55:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29867388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracieyfaciey/pseuds/gracieyfaciey
Summary: You are a Film student, in your third year of earning your Bachelors at UCLA while working as a performer on an Adult Fans Only site, under the name Sinema Sweetie (Cinema).Charlie Barber has moved to L.A. to be closer to Henry and taken a job as a Professor at UCLA, teaching a Film Direction course for advanced students. New to town and busy with adapting to his new life, Charlie has been subscribing to an Adult Fans Only account for gratification. When the girl behind the screen is suddenly sitting in front of him in his classroom, Charlie feels as if opening his laptop had opened Pandora’s Box...
Relationships: Charlie Barber/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 25





	1. theBarbofNYC

(A.N.: BIG INITIAL SHOUT OUT TO BENSOLO_LIVES! Not only was she the sole motivator for me to add 3 stories to my works, she solidified Charlie’s screen name in the story. I am so grateful for the opportunity to spitball ideas with her and create something out of nothing, knowing she is there cheering me on. 

Chapter One is kind of short and focuses on my man Charlie. I will use she/her in reference to Y/N (although I won't be using that format in this story) for this chapter and get into the 2nd person POV in Chapter 2. 

The format for this story as well as the two others coming soon will be different than Rearview, aside from the POVs. Rearview is far more of a therapeutic release for me and feels a bit more content/detail heavy. My Reader Insert stories will be a lot less formal, a bit more relatable and palatable maybe. Chapters will be shorter but also probably updated more frequently. I hope that anyone can find something that calls to them out of the 4 stories I am working on and I would love to connect with anyone and everyone enjoying any aspect of them. 

  
  


Anyway... Alexa, Play Adult Education by Hall & Oates)

Warnings: Sexual Content IMMEDIATELY, Masturbation

The bare walls and minimal furniture of Charlie’s L.A. apartment, his new long term home, did nothing to help absorb the noise of his morning routine. The hum of the coffee maker in the kitchen met the knock of the dryer in the hall closet. The white noise was the only thing competing with the telltale sounds of sexploitation creeping from the cracked door of his bedroom. There was no one there to hear and yet, he still felt like he had to keep the volume to a minimum. 

It was a habit after nearly a decade with Nicole, especially as Henry had gotten older and the three of them were crammed into the too-small New York apartment. Charlie hadn’t been in his new place quite long enough to start testing the boundaries of his new empty environment. Like most mornings, Charlie was sitting at the small desk in the corner of his room, laptop open in front of him with the volume at the lowest it could be for him to still hear it. One hand on the mouse, the other grasped tightly around his cock, soft grunts falling from his lips in reaction to the sight on screen. 

Charlie hadn’t found the time to get out and see the city or meet any new people outside of work, but he had come across AFO, Adult Fans Only, one night when he couldn’t sleep. He had scrolled for nearly an hour, uninterested in the thumbnails and preview clips of a hundred accounts and ready to close his laptop, when something finally caught his attention. An account by the name of Sinema Sweetie, her profile picture was filtered a deep red and only featured the bottom of a soft nose and full, perfect lips on display, falling open just enough for a glimpse at her pretty pink tongue. He had clicked on her name several times all at once, an urgency for more and sighed when it took a moment too long to buffer. 

When her page did finally load, he was met with a paywall. Any other website or account, he may have just given up and gone to bed, but the banner photo above the subscription options sealed his fate. Supple thighs, painted in the same red light, spread open and at the apex of them, where he should be granted sight of her sex, a VHS copy of Casablanca with a worn sleeve. Only then did he notice the countless classic and modern movie posters littered across the wall behind those thighs. Charlie had reached for his wallet on the bedside table then. After that, Sinema Sweetie had become a habit in the loneliness of the early morning and late nights. 

_ “Mmmm that feels sooo good...” _

“Fuck.” Charlie groaned, fist working tight pumps around himself and a bead of sweat rolling from his hair, down his temple. He leaned forward, towards the screen and took in each pixel with full admiration. Sweetie reclined back on her bed with one arm holding herself up, her other hand tracing delicate designs against the velvet folds of her pussy. Two slender fingers with long decorated nails moved from her core to her mouth, sliding between her lips to taste herself and moan. 

She still only revealed herself from the nose down but the way her jaw hung slack and her tongue peaked out over her bottom lip in response to her own touch was enough for Charlie. He could feel the pressure building at his pelvis as his pumping picked up speed and he twisted his wrist. His live moans synced with her prerecorded ones and within a few seconds, Charlie found his relief. 

He let his hand move slowly on his length as he leaned back in his seat and watched the ceiling throb with the blood in between his ears. A soft chuckle escaped his chest as he pulled his hand from his underwear and looked back at the screen. Below the video title, a time stamp showed that the video had been uploaded 47 minutes prior. He’d only been watching her for a few weeks and had managed not to see the same video twice due to her dedicated uploading schedule. 

Clicking on her name, he was redirected to her account again. The arrow dragged across the screen and landed on the ‘Tip Me’ option below her photo. Tapping on it, he was brought to another page of payment options. He made quick work of picking a $15 tip and adding a note.  _ You’re a work of art.  _ A chime from the speakers confirmed the receipt of his gift and he shut the laptop before sliding back his seat and making his way to the bathroom for a shower.

━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━

The overly bright fluorescent lighting of the halls leading to his new classroom had Charlie furrowing his brow. He snaked between students and backpacks, towering over many, and found Room 327. Entering the room, it had little to offer. Three walls all lay bare before him, the only color or life visible was through a collection of rectangular windows starting midway up the far wall. Charlie made his way behind the desk and set down his bag before pulling out some of his favorite books and a few independent films he had been able to find copies of on DVD. 

Glancing at his watch, there were only a few more minutes before that class was due to start. He turned and enjoyed the view out of the window while the final students wandered in from the halls and found seats. It had frustrated him to hear people rave about the open space of California in the midst of his divorce but with time, he too had come to appreciate it. He was only on the 3rd floor of the building and he could still see a panorama of blue sky. The city would always be his home, but L.A. could do for now. 

Pulling himself out of his head, he turned back to his desk and composed himself before looking up at the class of advanced film and performance majors, greeting them with a friendly smile. 

“Hello everyone, I’m Professor Barber, but that feels weird to say. Feel free to call me whatever you’re comfortable with, we will all adapt together.” A few of the students smiled and Charlie left a weight lifting off of him. “I know that everyone dreads this but we do it back at the theater so we will do it here. Let’s go around, introduce ourselves, maybe share why each of us are here, in this course. I will start.”

Charlie made his way from behind the desk to in front of it before sitting on the edge and gripping the wood on either side of him. He crossed his legs at the ankles and tried to collect a solid introduction in his head before speaking.

“My name is Charlie Barber, I’m a director and occasionally an actor. I am here to guide and be a consultant for you on your journey in performance... be that acting, directing, writing. My theater company back in New York-“ Charlie was cut off momentarily by a harsh cough. The noise pulled his attention to a young woman, covering her nose and mouth with an apologetic look in her eyes. He returned her gaze with a gentle nod and kind eyes before beginning again.

“My theater company only expanded and thrived when an exchange of thought and expression was flowing throughout the whole team. So my advice for the course, don’t be afraid to speak up, to be wrong, to trust your gut or fight against it entirely. Because if we don’t exhaust every idea, every urge, every passion... what the hell are we even doing here?” He chuckled and the class returned the laughter, each student seeming to relax into their seats more. Charlie began the train of introductions at the front of the class, engaging with each thoughtfully before moving on to the next.

After several minutes, Charlie’s eyes landed on the next student, the young lady whose cough seemed to scare herself more than anyone else. Her eyes darted around her as she realized it was her turn and Charlie invited her to speak with a smile and nod of his head. She cleared her thought and introduced herself before biting on her lip, deep in thought for a moment. The moment dragged on forever as the sound of the girl’s name echoed off the walls in his head. Charlie didn't realize how strong his grip on the desk had become until the wood was digging into the flesh of his palm. The name wasn't familiar but the voice that spoke it was... and the lip’s it had fallen from definitely were.


	2. SinemaSweetie

(A.N.: YOU KNOW WHERE THE FUCK THIS IS GOING SO LETS JUST GET STARTED SHALL WE!)

Warnings: Language, Me pretending to know what its like to go to University while being a sex worker (I got my degree from a community college/online while working in a law firm, I KNOW NOTHING), Probably some angst, What’s the opposite of slut shaming? Slut Praising? Maybe some of that.

The first day of the quarter had arrived, putting an end to your spring break and marking the final phase of your junior year at UCLA. The halls and entryways were crowded, the busy bustle of last minute schedule changes and excited reunions. With plenty of beach tans and freckles from trips to Malibu or even the Islands if they had money around you, you considered how you spent your week and a half off. 

You swapped posters around your filming room, the additional bedroom in your two bed one bath apartment. You tested out colored light bulbs, presetting tones and shades for different photos. Day after day, you pre-recorded content for your account, a safety net for the end of the year. School was your number one priority but that was the luxury of being able to pay your rent in three days on video and photo posts, plus tips. 

The smell of hairspray and cheap perfume filled your nose and pulled you out of your head as you stood in line at the coffee stand. You did your best to breathe through your mouth but tasting it was so much worse. Thankfully, the people in front of you finished their order before you had to suck in a desperate breath. 

Taking a long stride towards the barista, your attention was stolen by the sounds of bells clanging against the metal doorframe. Your best friend, Kimberly, was shoving her way through the heavy glass door, wrestling with her backpack and the books in her arms. 

“Wait! Wait, I’m here. Sorry, excuse me, shit.” She weaved her way between the tables and bumped her bag into several students before making it to the counter. “I’m here.” 

“Clearly.” You snorted, raising an eyebrow sarcastically. 

“Shut up.” She snipped back, eyes scanning the board, even though you knew she would get the same thing she always did. “May I have a giant sweet cream cold brew?” The barista nodded and began marking the cup as you pulled your wallet from your bag. 

“And may I get a medium mocha with an extra shot?” You asked, pulling a card from one of the slots of your wallet and tapping your nails against it. The barista typed the order into the computer and read the total, gesturing for you to insert your card into the slot. Just as the machine beeped and you pulled your card from the reader, your phone chimed. 

A cartoon register sound followed by a cha-ching alerted you of a tip on your AFO account. You and Kimberly shuffled to the end of the stand to wait for your orders when you swapped your wallet for your phone. She leaned over your shoulder as you unlocked it and opened the app. When the app loaded, the screen rained tiny green money emojis.

“Ooooh how much? Who from?” She asked, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

“Uhhh, Fifteen dollars from theBarbofNYC.” You smiled.

“Again?”

“It would appear so.” You had received a few tips from theBarb, at least once a week since he had subscribed. He seemed to be making steady progress through all the content you had already made, liking each and commenting other kind remarks on a few. 

“Man, you got this guy hooked. Subscribing, tipping, what next? Love letters?”

“He left a note.” Your smile grew and you felt a rush of heat to your cheeks. 

“What’s it say?! Tell me, tell me.” She sang, grabbing at your shoulders to look at your phone again. “You’re a work of art? Yuck.” She punctuated her judgement with an overdramatic gag and you rolled your eyes. 

“Stop, it’s nice. Definitely an upgrade from ‘nice tits’ or ‘good job, came hard’.” Many of the people who subscribed were polite, often quiet, but the loudest were also the crudest. 

“I guess, it just seems a little pretentious. He must love you.”

“Well, he paid for your coffee so I guess he loves you too.” 

The comments theBarb left may have been cheesy or cliche but they had been some of your favorite responses lately. Sometimes he would quote a movie from one of the posters in the background, using a line or reference to praise your work. Other times, the notes read like confessions of adoration.

The first had made you feel like a schoolgirl, giddy and full of butterflies, while also filling you with an overwhelming sense of power. How a video of you cramming yourself full of silicone had reduced a man to ooey gooey sentiments, you had no clue but that didn't matter. Ever since, you had started to anticipate the notes and comments more than the tips. 

“Do you ever wonder if you know these people, or want to know them?” 

_Yes._

“No. If they wanted me to know them, they wouldn’t use screen names. If I wanted them to know me, I would show my face.” You explained. You had no shame in your work or judgement for anyone making their way in the world, but you weren’t interested in bringing it into your real life. General anonymity had been important to you long before AFO. You had no social media accounts, which was apparently extremely off putting to your fellow students, but it made your life just that much easier. 

“Do you think you have ever been at the same place as someone who subscribes and you just don’t know it?”

“I mean it's more than likely. But that's what the half face is for.”

“I guess.” Kimberly said as another barista called their orders. You collected your cups and moved from the entryway of the building out into the warmth of the California sun. 

━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━

You and Kimberly lingered in the hall outside the room assigned to the course, clinging to a wall as the throngs of people searched for their classes. First days were always complete clusterfucks, usually an entire day wasted getting lost or redirected. If you did find the class, it was always dedicated to syllabi and god awful personal introductions, especially theater majors. Everyone was so concerned with telling people who they were, rather than being who they claimed. 

“Woah, look at that fucking tree.” Kimberly chuckled. Following her eye line, you looked further down the hall. It was immediately clear what she was gawking at, or rather who. A man stood a head above most of the busy bodies, eyebrows pulled in a focus, eyes scanning the wall of doors. Dark tresses framed his face, speckled with marks like little kisses across his bone structure. 

Your eyes spiraled, taking him in as he moved closer. If the button down tucked into dress pants wasn't the clear giveaway that he wasn’t a fellow student, the leather bag hanging off his shoulder definitely was. He wasn’t nearly as old as most of the professors on campus but he clearly had over a decade on you. There was something about the age in his features that made him look as though he wore his years well, they didn’t wear him. 

The record scratched on your over-analyzation when he made a sharp right turn into the open door of the Advanced Film class. You and Kimberly snapped to each other’s eyes in that moment, both wide and silently screaming the same message. 

“No fucking way.”

“That’s the professor?” She choked, eyes only getting bigger somehow, threatening to pop out of her head. 

“I have never seen him, like... ever!” You hissed, eyes fogging with thought as you scoured your memory.

“I had heard there was someone new in the department but Advanced Film has always been Ms. Ackeman’s course.”

“Who is he?”

“I don’t know!” She said, louder than either of you wanted, pulling the momentary attention of a few passing students. Grabbing your bags, you moved from the hall and through the door into the room. The professor stood behind his desk, turned with his eyes focused out the window. Much of the room was still vacant so you each chose seats toward the middle of the space. Kimberly sat behind you, piling her belongings in the space underneath the desk and letting her legs swing out to the side. 

You hung your backpack by the straps on the back of the chair and kept your back to the front as you dug out a notebook and a pen. As the minutes closed in, several more students filled in and claimed seats. The level of the course meant that class size was bound to be small but you were a bit surprised when you looked around and only counted another dozen people. As the class fell silent, you turned, putting your notebook and pen down in front of you and leaning back in your seat. 

“Hello everyone, I’m Professor Barber-”

_Huh?_

“Ha, Barb.” Kimberly chuckled a whisper, leaning towards your ear to keep it between you. You rolled your eyes in response, forcing yourself to consider the probability. You weren't great at math but your B- in Stats, with the help of a tutor, told you the odds were low. You had just begun to relax again when the worst happened.

“I know that everyone dreads this but we do it back at the theater so we will do it here. Let’s go around, introduce ourselves, maybe share why each of us are here, in this course. I will start.” Professor Barber said before moving around his desk and settling on the edge. 

You couldn't help but watch the way his knuckles protruded as he gripped the desk. You pressed your knees together and stifled a sigh. No amount of on-camera solo play could satisfy the gnawing ache that chewed away at your core. In layman's terms, your kitty was cock hungry. Your focus was pulled from his broad fists to his full lips when he spoke again.

“My name is Charlie Barber..”

_Charlie._

“I’m a director and occasionally an actor. I am here to guide and be a consultant for you on your journey in performance...”

_I know exactly where I want you to guide me._

“...My theater company back in New York-“ An attempt to silence a gasp resulted in inhaling your saliva and catching your windpipe by surprise. A cough ripped from your throat before you could cover it but when you did, you used your hand like a mask. 

Of all the eyes on the room that fell on you in that moment, the ones you wanted on you least were his. When they did and locked with yours, you didn't know if the look in your eyes read “apologies” or “please for the love of god, stop fucking looking at me”. You only were granted the luxury of oxygen when he looked back at the rest of the room and spoke again. 

_Barber, Barb. New York. NYC. The odds are... slimming. But still not definite._

“My theater company only expanded and thrived when an exchange of thought and expression was flowing throughout the whole team.”

_His own theater company in New York and he is in the land of Film and TV? Teaching?_

“So my advice for the course, don’t be afraid to speak up, to be wrong, to trust your gut or fight against it entirely. Because if we don’t exhaust every idea, every urge, every passion... what the hell are we even doing here?” 

_Every urge, every passion... Sir, stop speaking directly to my pussy._

Everyone laughed with him and you took the moment to collect yourself and clear your head. He began his interrogation at the front of the room, giving you plenty of time to consider what to say, how to introduce yourself as vaguely as possible. But as every moment passed, all you could focus on was the dimples that dug into his soft cheeks as he spoke and smiled. You caught yourself smiling as he added personal stories in between introductions. He owned the space but effortlessly shared it, filling it with a warm glow like stage lights shining on each person. 

All too soon, your eyes locked on him in admiration were met with his gaze and you were a deer caught in the headlights again. You swallowed the traces of moisture in your mouth and he encouraged you with a nod. 

_Start with your name, your name is easy._

You choked it out, focusing all your energy on not stumbling over the syllables. Your brain couldn't compute more than one thing at a time, already overworked from speaking. Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you mulled it over as fast as you could. 

“I love movies. I thought I wanted to be an actress, well only an actress, for a long time but I’m too much of a control freak for that, I guess.” You chuckled and a few people around you did too, probably agreeing with the sentiment. You looked nervously back to the front of the room, nervously anticipating what his response may be or what story it may pull from him. When he simply smiled, somewhat painful if you saw it right, and thanked you for sharing, it ripped the wind from your sails. You sunk in your seat as he moved onto the person next to you without another word. 

Perhaps it was based on emotional bias at this point but you considered that moment reduced the probability of Charlie being thBarb. The gnawing attraction picked at the point as you tried to push past it but knowing yourself, it would continue to eat at you until you knew. This was what the half face was for, to avoid “do I know you” moments and anxious overthinking. Part of you wanted to put some of the blame on Kimberly and her now oddly specific questioning this morning, as if she had set this all up from the beginning. 

You wondered what you would even do with the knowledge if it was him. _You’d touch yourself._ You’d overthink. _You’d tease him._ You’d struggle to focus. _You’d fantasize. You’d seduce him. NO!_ You huffed at your own train of thought and sat up, sliding your phone from your back pocket. Reopening the tip notification from this morning, the page loaded and you were met with the message again.

_theBarbofNYC sent you a tip!_

_$15.00_

_“You’re a work of art.”_

Your thumb hovered over the response options, little emoji auto replies and tiny message designs all a tap away from sending. You looked back up at him in front of the class when you clicked on kissy lips and watched it send through in your peripherals. Your jaw locked together when he slipped a hand in pants pocket, pulled out a phone and glanced at it. You noted the way his jaw seemed to tighten before he relaxed and slipped the phone back into his pocket. When he didn’t look at you, but back at the student introducing themself, you began crunching the numbers again.

_Barber, NYC, Oddly coincidental phone check... but no look... not even a glance. Doubtful. At this point, it’s more likely a lesbian in Queens named Barbara._

Something deep in your gut wouldn’t let it go though. Your eyes went back to the phone to add a note.

_“Then admire me. xx Sweetie <3” _

In a desperate last attempt to rule your new professor out entirely, you clicked send. It had to be impossible but again, he seemed to react to an alert in his pocket and pulled out his phone. The glance he gave his phone lingered longer than before and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. You could feel yourself chewing a bruise into your lip when suddenly, he was looking directly at you, eyes boring into yours. 

_Holy fuck._

  
  



	3. New Message

The rest of the day went by in a blur. No class held your interest quite like the first of the day. His confirming glance was the last of your silent communication. The moment you spent with your eyes locked said everything either of you needed to say. You had let your eyes wander across him for the rest of the class, ignoring your classmates introductions entirely. 

Broad shoulders and thick arms all lead to big, strong hands and surprise, surprise, _no fucking ring_. The line was already so blurry but there was no way in hell you were going to get involved in someone’s marriage, regardless of the state of it.

Kimberly had left you after that period, still in the dark after her little joke, that turned out to be all too true. Even on your drive back to your apartment, through the stop-and-go traffic, you couldn’t stop replaying the moment in your head. You imagined it like a scene in a movie, picturing all the different camera angles that could have captured every ounce of thrill you felt. The only distraction you were offered was the giant plastic package sitting at your door as you made it up the stairs. 

Once you made it into the apartment, you locked the door and tossed the package on the small three seater dining table. Dropping all your bags and books on the bench, you dragged your feet into the kitchen and grabbed a drink from the fridge. The cool liquid slithered a chilly path before collecting in your stomach as you glanced at the clock. 6:30 P.M. It was later than you usually liked to be home but there was still plenty of time in the evening.

TheBarbofNYC’s likes and comments didn't usually appear until long after the sun had gone down, sometimes even after midnight. Though that was before the quarter started... and before you had privately exposed him during class. Your nails found their way to your teeth, a nervous habit you had been fighting since elementary school. You were saved by the 65 dollar acrylic set you had treated yourself to over the break, refusing to destroy the nail tech’s hard work. 

You began reevaluating the stare down all over again, this time through different lenses, perceptions, and worst case scenarios. What if the intense depth in his eyes was fear? Disgust? What if he was just another perv following hundreds of accounts, and suddenly he is living out a real life porno scenario?

You rushed to your filming room, grabbing your laptop from the desk and settling on the red crushed velvet loveseat in the corner of the room. The screen immediately illuminated and you typed in your password, _g!rlnextd00r_. You were greeted with the AFO homepage, a bare bones site with black background and red text. Using the creator page, you found TheBarb’s... well, Charlie’s account. 

No picture, no details, not even a link to a private messaging app like most follower accounts had, hoping to snag free chats with girls on the site. He was a lurker, as they were called privately between creators, accounts with the ultimate privacy setting; anonymity. Clicking on his subscribed tab, you began to blush when you saw your account was the only one to appear. The exclusivity of his subscriptions list went straight to your head, as you wiggled in your seated position. 

Any doubt that had sparked before was snuffed out and suddenly you were recharged with your greatest superpower; the audacity. You clicked back to your profile and into account settings, locating the video chat specifications. You had never been interested in video chats with followers. One, it was difficult to hide your face with all that movement and no editing. Two, the idea of having to sit there and either accept or decline requests was anxiety inducing. 

Clicking the YES next to Allow Video Chat Requests box, the advanced customization settings appeared. You quickly made a filter and added Charlie’s screen name, allowing only him to see the Video Chat option on your page. Next, you moved to the messages feature, clicking SEND NEW MESSAGE and adding his screen name again. You knew you had to be creative, careful but distant. It could be the first step in the direction of some real fun, or the nail in your coffin. You began diligently drafting the message, creating a believable enough hook to reel him in on.

_Dear Subscribers,_

_I am now available for video chats!_

_Find the video chat button on my page and request a private session with me._

_Prices start at $10 for 10 minutes, or get a full hour with me for $55._

_Don’t miss your chance._

_xx Sweetie <3 _

There was no hesitation when you hit send, it was the fastest click of your life. Rewarding yourself with a little happy dance, you set the open laptop on the couch. You walked to the dining room, retrieving your package and going back into your little room. Ripping at the plastic, the individually wrapped lingerie sets you’d ordered tumbled to the floor at your feet. An excited squeal erupted from between clenched teeth as you scooped them up and tossed them onto the satin lined circle mattress in the corner opposite the couch. 

You had found the vintage style sets from a cute little Etsy shop and they had reminded you of old Hollywood glamour. You had snagged one of each and sent the receipt to your accountant, noting it as a business expense. You shuffled through them all, sorting, trying on and putting away all but one, leaving it laid out on the bed. Prancing out of the room riding a high of adrenaline and dopamine, you went to your bathroom to take a hot shower.

━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━

Charlie pushed through the door of his apartment, dropping his bag and unnecessary coat on the chair by the window before wandering into the kitchen. He had gone to Nicole’s house after work to see Henry, sharing each other’s first-day-back-after-break stories. Henry loved his school, especially the sunny recesses. He had collected a small collection of scraps and bruises from running around the black top in shorts, but each bloody knee came with a story that he shared in vivid detail. 

He may be the director, and Nicole the actor, but Henry was the true visionary. Charlie would often let his eyes fall shut listening to him, trying to see it through youthful eyes or remember similar experiences from his own childhood. Henry would end up tugging on his shirt or climbing into his lap, claiming Charlie wasn't listening, but he had no idea just how much he was trying to absorb. Every day, Henry was bigger and smarter and bolder than the day before and Charlie had to sit back and watch his baby boy grow up. 

Charlie wandered from the living room to the small kitchen, pulling a beer from the fridge and popping it open. He usually saved his evening drink for weekends, but the new Southern California routine was busy and exhausting. Morning traffic to the college, evening traffic to Nicole’s and back to his apartment. Resting against the edge of the counter, Charlie glanced at the clock on the microwave. 7:49 P.M. The sun still hung above the horizon, painting an ever-expanding canvas of pastels and blazing oranges out the small window. 

He was appreciating syllabus week, giving him very little to do work-wise at the end of the day. However, the freedom of thought was letting his mind drift. Drift back to this morning’s video, back to the tip he sent... to the moment in class. The hand around the neck of the beer bottle was strangling, focusing the tension of that fleeting second of eye contact into the glass. Chewing at his lip, he pushed himself from the kitchen counter and down the hallway towards his room, foam gathering in the bottle from the movement. 

He sat on the foot of his bed, untied and removed his shoes before picking up his beer again and taking a swig. He dragged his free hand through his hair and blew out a chest full of air. No amount of coffee that morning could have prepared him for her, sitting in his classroom, biting her lip. It wasn’t her lips that had stunned him into silence, it was her eyes. Wide and expectant, they pierced him and dug in like barbs. He couldn't even choke out a reasonable response while he was lost in them. 

Charlie cursed himself, remembering how quickly he had jumped on to the next student after her answer. And her answer, she was witty and honest and he had left her with “Thank you, next.” He tried to rationalize his dismissal, but truly he didn't know how to react, if he was allowed at all. She had tested his composure with her first response and he had maintained himself, but the reply. Her sweet, sweet reply was just too enticing. The second spent giving her what she wanted was simply a taste of what he would be willing to give.

“God damnit, Charlie.” He scolded himself again. “She’s your student.” 

_But you are paying her._

“No.”

_She was the one that messaged you in class._

“No...”

_Giving you those “fuck me” eyes-_

“Fuck!” Charlie shouted and it was punctuated by the ring of a notification on his computer. He rose to his feet and took a few strides to his desk in the corner. Tapping his index finger on the mousepad, the screen came to life. A little white bubble in the corner of the screen alerted him to a new message, over an hour ago on his AFO account. He nearly dropped his beer as he pulled out the rolling chair and sat down. Unlocking his laptop, he clicked on the notification and it began to redirect him to the site. 

After too many seconds, he was greeted by the black and pink lay out. A little pink heart donning the number one was posted over the tiny mailbox icon under his account. He let the cursor hang over the little badge for an extra moment. He had never received a message while on the site, he could feel his heart begin to race as he lingered over it. The weight of curiosity finally left-clicked, and the page reloaded once again.

NEW MESSAGE FROM...

SINEMA SWEETIE

The hesitance of his prior click was nowhere to be found, in fact, Charlie hadn’t even realized he clicked when the notification bar expanded to reveal the message.

_Dear Subscribers,_

Charlie released the breath he was holding and took a swig of his beer. He would be beating himself up for weeks for assuming it would be a message just for him.

_I am now available for video chats!_

_Find the video chat button on my page and request a private session with me._

“Private?”

_Prices start at $10 for 10 minutes, or get a full hour with me for $55._

_Don’t miss your chance._

_xx Sweetie <3 _

“Don't miss your chance...” Charlie reread it aloud. He let his eyes scan over it again and again but all he could see were those four words. He would be lying if he said he didn't want more of her, but he knew he was treading into a very grey area. Unbuttoning the top of his shirt and chugging his beer, Charlie clicked her name and was brought to her profile. Sure enough, a little video camera icon appeared where it never had before. He wiped his eyes with both hands and let out a heavy sigh before resting his hands back at the keyboard. _Don't miss your chance..._

He clicked on the little camera and a drop down menu offered him a variety of time options, all to be paid automatically when the call ended. He chose the hour, rationalizing it as being the most cost effective and was filled with instant panic as the little green light appeared at the top of the screen. The black mirror reflection was replaced with a cyber mirror rendering, and a little grainier than real life. Techno bubble noises rang, indicating that he was in fact calling her. Quickly, he scrambled to readjust the screen and comb his hair with his fingers. 

He set the camera to land just below his eyes, giving Sweetie the same view he had received, online, thus far. He continued to find something wrong with his appearance to tidy as the line continued to ring. After rubbing his tongue across his teeth a dozen times looking for food, and turning the lamp on and off and on and off to assess the best lighting, she still hadn’t answered the call. He could feel the disappointment tainting the adrenaline coursing through him, until...

“Hello?”

  
  



End file.
